


Don't Fight

by Naemi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Facial, M/M, Mouthfuck, Prompt Fic, Smut, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:29:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowing it's now or never makes him want to beg, scream, cry, all at once, but he holds still, abides by his Alpha's will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Fight

**Author's Note:**

> [season 3b material]

 

Beacon Hills High School lies dark and empty except for a lonely figure that hides in the shadows of the locker room. Breathing unevenly, the boy sits on the ground, hair still moist from his shower and droplets of water drying on his bare shoulders. Hugging his knees to his chest, he rocks back and forth in a slow rhythm. He's boxer-clad, and his shirt and pants lie on the floor a few feet from him, as if flung away in a fit of temper.

With his eyes closed, he doesn't see the other person approaching, but he's heard him come down the hallway, and the stinging smell of worry and anger preceded the dull sound of his footsteps.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Impatience and displeasure radiate from the newcomer, making the boy squirm. “Panicking.”

“Why?”

“Because I ruined it.”

“Ruined what, Isaac?”

Isaac's eyes flutter open, but he focuses his gaze on his claws that, without his realization, have started digging into his flesh. “You hate me, don't you?”

Squatting down, Scott gently separates Isaac's hands. “I could never hate you.”

“Then why do you smell so angry?”

“I'm—” Scott sighs. “I guess I was angry, yeah. But that doesn't mean shit.”

Isaac studies the blood on his knuckles, desperate to dig his claws back into the wounds before they close completely. Instead, he runs his shaky fingers through his curls that frame his face in a wild mess. When Scott nudges his knees, he jerks them to the side. “Don't touch me.”

A faint grin tugs at the corners of Scott's lips. “Don't be silly,” he says, but as he reaches for his friend again, he receives a hard shove and a threatening growl that he answers on impulse. For a heartbeat, their eyes flash wolfish, fiery red and liquid honey . . . and then Isaac keens in apology. He rests his head back against the locker, baring his throat in submission, but also in an invitation that he knows will be declined. Like always. Frustration burns the corners of his eyes.

“I can live with the fact that you're not . . . not the Alpha I need you to be. I really can. But when I seek you in other people, you get mad at me for it, so what am I supposed to do, Scott? Tell me, what can I even do?”

Scott's heartbeat picks up at the bitterness in Isaac's words. “Please don't do _that_ ,” he says as he scoots closer, careful not to touch the boy and make it worse. “I wish I could give you what you want,”—Isaac snorts—“I really do, but I don't know . . . I don't know that I can.”

“You're not Alpha enough to claim your pack? Even if they throw themselves at your feet? That's so . . . pathetic.”

Judging by Isaac's sagged shoulders and tense jaw, it was an insult aimed at himself. Scott grimaces; he's not going to accept that, can't let Isaac return to his old pattern of self-hatred that always had him end up hurt. He _is_ pack; he's a friend, family even. More than anything, Scott wants him to be happy.

Cupping Isaac's chin, he says, “Look at me,” and Isaac's lashes slowly reveal teary human eyes. “You know it's not just about being pack. What you want—what you need . . . there's no going back.”

“You make it sound like I want you to mate me for life when really all I want is . . . a sliver. Just a taste of happiness.”

Scott opens his mouth, but he finds no reply.

Isaac sighs, tilting his head away from Scott's touch. “Forget about it. I won't mention it ever again.” He moves to stand up, but Scott pushes him back a little too hard; he bangs his head on the locker, gasping in surprise. “What?” he barks because there's nothing else, only silence and a look he can't interpret, and it's nerve-wracking.

Suddenly, Scott grabs a handful of his curls and jerks Isaac's head back so his neck is craned. He can see his pulse quicken, feels it under his fingertips.

“You don't get it.” His voice is low and tense, not quite Alpha yet, but enough to make Isaac whimper. “You don't—I can't—” Scott squeezes his eyes shut. Confusion wafts from him in waves, mixes with anger that flares up again, but not as severe, not as dominant.

Lacking a better idea—lacking any sense and reason—Isaac arches up, exposes his throat even further until the strain in his neck borders on unbearable. Anxiety heaves his chest, leaving his lips in ragged breaths. Knowing it's now or never makes him want to beg, scream, cry, all at once, but he holds still, abides by his Alpha's will.

And Scott crumbles. It's sudden and savage, but Isaac doesn't yield, endures the sharpness of fangs with only a few hiccuped sobs through clenched teeth and a hand fisting Scott's shirt. It's over as fast as it begins, and quite frankly, Isaac feels almost sobered. Except for the throbbing pain that he doesn't expect to fade anytime soon, nothing seems different—and yet he knows everything is going to change with this bite.

Isaac hooks his fingers into the belt loops of Scott's jeans, pulling him between his thighs and canting his hips into the contact. He can't determine what caused the sudden, spine-tingling rush of desire that overcame him— _The bite; maybe it's not just a myth_ —but he can't escape it, doesn't want to escape it. All he can think of is, _Claim me_ , and although the locker room floor isn't exactly the most romantic of places, it doesn't matter at all. He's hard, and so is Scott, and when you're seventeen, that's pretty much the only reason you need to get down and dirty.

Scott kisses him, hasty and rough, and fumbles his jeans open with one hand; the other is still buried in Isaac's hair, holding him in place. When the denim is out of the way, Isaac's boxers fall prey to his claws.

“Careful,” Isaac hisses against Scott's lips. “I'm kinda . . . attached . . . to my cock.”

“Attached, huh?” Scott snickers. “Next you tell me it's good friends with your hand.”

“It is indeed.”

Groaning, Scott sits back on his heels. “Show me. Touch yourself.”

Isaac complies. Eyes fixed on Scott's face, he watches him watching as he wraps his hand around his cock and builds a slow rhythm.

“You like what you see?”

Scott hums. “I particularly like that it's all mine. Basically. I guess?”

“You know, you could've had that—” Isaac starts, but the sight of Scott shoving down his own boxers and palming his dick transforms his I Told You So speech into a soft whimper. He angles forward, lips parted, the task he was given forgotten over the urge to touch and taste his Alpha, but Scott pushes at his chest until he's flush against the locker again.

“Keep going,” he says, grinning. He stands up to undress fully, shoes and all, and Isaac whimpers with impatience. He leans forward again, only to be pushed back a little harder.

A half-hearted complaint wants out, but as Isaac opens his mouth, Scott braces himself against the locker, and with his cock a mere inch away from his face now, Isaac immediately decides against words. He flicks out his tongue to lick up the length, once, twice, until Scott thrusts his hips forward ever so lightly.

Isaac glances up, draws in the curve of Scott's shoulders, the smoothness of skin and muscle. Despite wanting this for so long, he feels a bit lost because he isn't sure what _exactly_ to do. He figures grabbing the base of Scott's cock and running his thumb up the underside with a little pressure is an acceptable start. The hushed moan he receives in response confirms it.

Smirking, Isaac dips his head, mouths at one of Scott's balls and sucks it in when another moan encourages him. His own erection forgotten, he focuses on the new task that's way more exciting; his hand easily finds a rhythm that makes Scott whimper, while his mouth quickly figures out how to make him curse under his breath. But sucking balls, however much fun, isn't enough. Isaac wants more, wants it all, so he drags his lips back up until they close around the tip, and swirls his tongue over it.

Gasping, Scott pushes forward tentatively, and when Isaac hums approval around him, his eyes cross. One of his hands finds his way back into those soft curls on its own accord.

“I want to—” he bites out, stopped short by blunt nails digging into his hips.

Isaac looks up at him with eyes wide open, rimmed in gold, but there's no fear, no warning, nothing but encouragement and trust—and Scott lets go.

It's quite messy, involving a lot more teeth and saliva than it probably should, but since Isaac has never had his mouth fucked before, he thinks he handles it okay. Of course, Scott is careful with him, except for the grip in his hair that becomes painful after a while; Isaac repays it with a little scrape of claws that makes Scott jerk his hips forward with a heavy groan.

Isaac chokes, and tears sting his eyes. Whimpering, he tilts his head back, but the locker is right there, trapping him. While he still tries to decide whether or not he likes that sudden roughness—if the flutter in his loins is a valid indicator, he does—one of his hands sneaks to cup Scott's balls, and the squeeze causes a stutter of rhythm. Isaac whimpers again, but this time, it's a thoroughly pleased sound; he feels like he's got some control again. His cock twitches as Scott throws his head back, panting, when Isaac hollows out his cheeks.

A hoarse string of _fuckfuckfuck_ is the only warning he receives. Scott withdraws, but the first spurt of cum still hits Isaac's lips, and the second splashes right across his chin before either of them manages to prevent it.

Isaac turns his head to the side and more cum barely misses his ear. “Really?” he breathes unbelieving, and then, “Dude,” which sounds so unlike him that Scott can't help snickering.

“At least I didn't come _in_ your mouth.”

Isaac smacks his lips and grimaces. “Tastes like it.” His voice is raspy and his jaw hurts, but he's strangely content.

“You wanted a taste of happiness. No complaints now.”

“You're such a dick, McCall.”

“I'm sorry,” Scott says seriously. He kneels between Isaac's legs, feeling a little shaky, but smiling brightly. “I didn't mean to.”

Isaac faces him, and Scott can't suppress the urge to run his fingertips over his wet and swollen lips before he picks up his shirt and wipes at the string of cum that already dries on his chin.

“That's weird,” Isaac whispers, averting his eyes. “I feel like . . . like a girl.” He snorts. “I feel used.”

“Well, surprise. I did use you. But—” Scott kisses a gentle Thank You onto Isaac's lips, “—I fully intend to repay the favor.”

Isaac gives a happy little purr. He wraps his legs around Scott's waist, pulling him closer. “Sounds fair.”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you give me.”

Scott dips his head to lick a wet stripe down Isaac's neck, frowning when he tastes himself. “Ugh. I'm so sorry,” he says, but before Isaac can ask, he kisses the bite mark that's faded into a bruise already.

Isaac hisses. It still hurts, but it's a pain that he connects with pride; he is thoroughly Scott's now, no matter what. There's no turning back.

**Author's Note:**

> Filling the prompts _copper, D/s, lockers, obey, possessive_ —as always, interpreted quite freely—for **[Porn Battle XV – The Ides of Porn](http://battle.oxoniensis.org)**.
> 
> It seems I do have a serious werewolf-biting-kink. It's always nice to learn new things about yourself, I guess.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


End file.
